


Chains

by MadMoro



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Floor Sex, Love/Hate, M/M, Prison Sex, Punishment, Tuloun Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMoro/pseuds/MadMoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toulon Era. Everyone has his own chains - Javert is no exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Chains (Цепи)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/947679) by [MadMoro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMoro/pseuds/MadMoro). 



> Thanks to my friend who helped me with corrections... I'm not so good with English as I would like to be...  
> So, my dear reader, forgive me my mistakes ...

He tried to run away again - so stupid, so naive. But such carrion like him will never be able to escape from the grasping claws of justice. Such carrion like him will rot in prison until the end of his days, unless he learns the meaning of his punishment. This meaning will be beaten into him with a lash of the whip - scarlet line to scarlet line - unless he realizes he is a thief and a fugitive, unless he forgets his name and learns his number as Pater Noster - 2-4-6-0-1.  
Javert will personally flog into him this knowledge. Stupid animal needs training. And he is an animal - a wild, uncontrolled, unrestrained. He knows only the whip, he knows only the hate. Javert enjoys breaking him - such a strong, such a proud. He enjoys humiliating him in front of faceless crowd of prisoners, enjoys mixing him with the dirt and seeing the blind fury in his eyes, see how his nostrils flaring with anger, how the muscles all over his body tense, how he grits his teeth and...obeys.  
Javert keeps him on a short leash - on the chain that binds his hands and feet. 24601 is his personal pet, his personal silly creature, which he has a right to command to. Silly creature which is worth only a lash of the whip.  
Scarlet line to scarlet line - on the stiff muscles across the back. He doesn't scream, he just shudders at every lash of the whip like a snake that was thrown on the hot stones. The whip licks his back, cuts the skin with its sharp tongue. Whip whistles, whip sings and 24601 clenches his fists and teeth. He's strong. Javert knows it. Javert almost admires his strength, admires how his rough hands firmly grip the rope, how veins swell on his forearms when he pulls the rope back. This is the power of not of man but the beast. But more than his strength, Javert admires only his imaginary feigned obedience. He is like a predator, allows you to come closer, pretending to be harmless, and then you find yourself in his jaws, in his claws that tearing you apart.  
Javert got too close. No, Javert himself allowed that beast to come closer, thinking that he stands higher in the food chain, thinking that the restraints will keep the beast full of anger and hate.  
Sound of thirty lashes died away. Wide sunburned back is lined - as the timetable for guards' shifts - along and across with the swollen red lines. At the crosshairs the skin was burst and colored with crimson, which can be compared only to the color of prison uniforms. Javert touches convict's heaving back, presses one of the lines, traces with fingers his own imaginary route. The heat of another body, the heat of another blood attracts - he puts his palm on a mad ornamental pattern, and hears how his convict hisses through clenched teeth. His skin is like a hot midday sun, and he himself seemed to be red-hot. Javert feels that if he doesn't remove his hand, he will fuse in another's body. But he does not dare to take his fingers off. A strange fire gets into the bones and Javert finds it hard to breathe, a collar presses in the throat, his mouth becomes dry... so when he grabs a cold almost icy metal collar, his voice sounds muffled. He pulls this piece of metal, forcing a convict, in an attempt to avoid suffocation, to tilt the head back. He whispers hoarsely in his ear, 'A month in solitary.' 24601 growls powerless, throwing fierce glances at his tormentor.

Solitary is damp and smells of mildew. It smells of desperation and sewage. Straw replacing the bed begins to rot on the second day, but nobody changes it for weeks. The beasts should live like beasts.  
Javert kicks convict inside a cell and enters after him, as if it is a cage with a hungry beast. There’s a pure fire in Javert’s veins instead of blood, his fingers quiver on the truncheon. He needs only a reason: a sidelong glance, a wrong move, a grin ... - anything. And he gets it. He does not like the way 24601 looks at him - evil feral eye of a captured beast. Javert brandish a truncheon at him. But its strike stalls in another large palm - convict catches the club. Chains rattle, but no matter how heavy they are, they cannot restrain Jean Valjean. With a madness of a doomed man he knocks Javert down, overturns him to the ground, as heavy load overhanging from the top, pushing the rusty because of water and time manacles on the throat of his warder.  
'Lunatic', thinks Javert, opening his mouth like a big fish, gasping for some air, 'a madman.'  
But there is no fear, the blood burns the veins, consciousness slips away... Javert whispers again, wheezes again, squinting at Valjean’s face twisted by anger, 'Do what you have to...'  
And Valjean does.  
He leans over Javert and with brutal ferocity bites into his mouth, replacing his loss of air with a putrefactive breath. It seems to Javert, just for a moment, but still, that if Valjean could, he would gnawed round his face like a hungry animal - so vehement was his rush. Javert digs in streaked because of whip back and Valjean roars with pain and rage into his mouth. Rough fingers clumsily pull up uniform coat, trying to get to the buttons on the trousers. Javert arches, whether trying to help or to interfere. To the smell of damp and rotting has been added acrid smell of sweat. Javert narrows his eyes when Valjean bites his chin and fingers collide with fingers somewhere among the endless buttons. Everything is too slow.  
Valjean abruptly turns Javert on the stomach and Javert makes muffled groan, meeting a cold stone with his cheek. Another man’s hands impatiently lower his trousers, underwear, pull up the coat and shirt. Another man’s hands clench on his buttocks, forcing to lift hips higher...Valjean bears down upon Javert with all his weight. Javert almost spreads on the rocks. He arches his back, resting his forehead against the floor, breathing the thick earthy smell, trying to grasp at anything, at any crack, at any pothole, but first a sharp jolt turns all his attempts into nothing.  
Javert gnaws sleeve of his uniform coat, doesn't want to make a sound. He makes soft moans into blue like a calm see fabric and listens how uneven and noisy Valjean breathes in his ear. Hot rotten breath, just like any beast has. Valjean crumples the coat on Javert's hips, clangs chain on the rocks. Javert gasps - one of the jolts gets out of the overall madness - and cannot withstand another's weight, falls on the floor, hisses, rubbing off skin from knees, and squeezes his eyes shut until he sees colored circles on the back of the eyelids, when his erection rubs against the coarse fabric of coat.  
The sleeve is impregnated with sour saliva and on there are distinct teeth marks. Valjean presses Javert to the ground, Valjean fuses into him, Valjean moves with short strong jolts, extracting muffled sounds out from Javert who whines and presses his groin in the coat. He obeys to another's force, to another's fury. His whole being is pleased to fall on knees and bow to the stronger one, his whole being exults, obeying, groveling, arching in the lower back, exposing the ass.  
Valjean continues to thrust him into floor, predatorily grabbing Javert's hips. He twitches in the last snatch and, stunned by his own feelings, freezes, and presses into Javert so tightly that he did not dare to breathe.  
Javert lies motionless under another's body, until ferocious grip on his sides weaken, until another's heavy sniff turn to irregular breathing, until chained hands, making their way under two bodies, find his groin and grip with rough calloused fingers his aching cock. And Javert chokes on air. He desperately grasps at rocks, when all the surrounding colors are blended into one, and all the muscles in his body cramp. His throat lets out silent groan, and eyelids grow into each other, so hard he tries to close his eyes.  
Valjean rolls off from Javert when the chains on wrists become not cooler than the human body. He almost slips, falling wearily to the side, and after finding the strength to roll over onto his back. Javert turns away from Valjean, djusts clothes by disobedient hands: roughly fills shirt in trousers, buttons coat up with trembling fingers...  
Valjean rolls off from Javert when the chains on wrists become not cooler than the human body. He almost slips, falling wearily to the side, and then finds the strength to roll over onto his back. Javert turns away from Valjean, adjusts clothes by shaking hands: roughly tucks the shirt in trousers, buttons up the coat with trembling fingers... He gets up, straightens out his coat and without turning around heads unsteadily for the exit. He knows that Valjean turned to him, embraced knees, pulling legs to the chest, protecting the soft peritoneum. He knows that Valjean looks at his back with wolfish glance, just between the shoulder blades, exactly where he had previously nuzzled.  
Molded door of solitary closes with an eerie creak and Javert leans against it. He barely stands on his feet.  
He allowed the beast to come too close. No, he himself came to be into his jaws, to be torn apart by his claws. Javert came just as he had come before, to feel another's strength that cannot be resisted. And he will come again. The whole next month he will stand outside the solitary's door – open it constrainedly - to inhale the smell of rot and dampness once again, to press his face into the stone floor and listen to the chime of rusty chain links and ragged breathing.  
Javert did not notice that he put himself on the chain.


End file.
